


so many pretty girls and all i keep finding is you

by eyemoji



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, im gay, teeechnically an interlude for 'they just committed a crime gwen', um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemoji/pseuds/eyemoji
Summary: takes place after ch 1 of 'they just committed a crime, gwen'winona & rachel hotel interlude





	so many pretty girls and all i keep finding is you

they check into the hotel at an hour that really ought to be off-limits to new guests, but then again, there's a reason the two of them aren't staying at the fanciest little thing in town (well, there are many reasons, some involving the stash in the car you could never prove wasn't theirs,) and entry at odd-hours with no questions asked is one of the perks of choosing your residences in advance. winona, now awake and fresh after what ended up an exceptionally long nap, has a smile on her face that's too winning for andrea's liking.  ~~she's seen that smile before, many times, but most memorably from the barstool across from her in a tiny town with too much good liquor and far too many pretty girls.~~  

andrea forces herself to look away.

she knows what that smile means, what winona will ask her, casually, lazily, with her exaggerated drawl and the roll of her eyes as she slides into their shared bed, long legs hanging off the side as the friction of the sheets, a far cry from the luxury of silk, tug up her patterned shorts. her fingers will lift to her mouth, almost as if out of habit, as if expecting a cigarette to materialize between them so she can complete her Look (which, andrea always has a good idea of what she's going for, if not the particulars of the aesthetic she's trying to emulate,) as if the allure of carcinogenic tar would be the thing to put andrea over the edge and into her arms.

this is to say, of course, that winona is plenty  _alluring_  on her own. andrea knows this, and winona undoubtedly knows she knows this, and so this pattern has emerged, over the two heists they've pulled off together; the heist will go off, or they'll be in planning stages for the next, and winona will do her very best to project her best 'i'm not interested but i'll have you if you are' aura and andrea will attempt to ignore it, and then winona will perhaps kick the effort up a notch higher and andrea will remind her of the task at hand, as if winona needed reminding, as if winona hasn't proved herself to be sharp to a degree that scares even andrea, because if something goes awry- if winona has a hand in tumbling this particular jenga tower- then andrea isn't one hundred percent sure that she'll be able to escape the fallout. 

andrea's outlined progression comes to fruition as they check into the hotel and roll into their room- winona makes a beeline for the bathroom, comes out after an aggravatingly long period of time covered in steam and a towel, which proceeds to drop revealing her bra- and those shorts- and sure enough she sits on the bed and looks at andrea and andrea sighs, and resigns herself to the third step of their little game, which is and has always been: winona will pat the spot on the bed beside her, and andrea will, after a moment's pause, accept the invitation and climb in beside her, and the night will progress.

this time, she takes the opportunity to brush her teeth and make an attempt at wiping the remains of the plaster dust from the vault out of her hair. as her efforts slowly begin to make something of a difference, she tries to picture winona's face from the first time she saw her- she'd seemed different, then. softer, kinder, almost, but also as if she'd been playing a part, as if the gentleness was forced and the talons hidden inside her gaze instead of sprouting from her fingernails had been lying in wait all along instead of growing in by necessity. 

andrea reconsiders that last analogy. no, perhaps that forcefulness- that  _strength-_  had been built by the demands of circumstance after all; it wouldn't surprise her. but no matter the nature of the origin story, the fact remains that that careful intelligence, that specially shaped charm, directed with as much care and handling as one might apply towards a particularly vital explosive, had taken root in winona long before she'd ever set eyes on andrea nash. and andrea nash spends far too much of her free time in front of the mirror wondering exactly what series of unfortunate events had planted the seeds.

a dry cough from winona tears andrea's attention away from the past and hurls her firmly into the present. her bit of contemplation hadn't stopped her from finishing the washing, and her hands had been, for the past two or three minutes, rubbing at the same two or three strands as if scrubbing harder would help get rid of the permanent hair dye that had been, for the last few months, threatening andrea's recollection of her youngest past self had looked like. she drops her hands, turns off the faucet, steps away from the sink. mutters something about winona's impatience, something that probably should have been beyond the physical limits of human hearing but which winona catches anyways, and responds with a laugh equally as dry as the earlier cough.

andrea gets the message.

she really shouldn't feel as  _awake_  as she does, she considers, as her heart begins thrumming in anticipation, assuming, to her own scorn, correctly that she will end up pressed into winona tonight. a day's worth of driving is nothing to scoff at, and under other circumstances- under winona-free circumstances- andrea would be long passed out under a scratchy coverlet belonging to a motel two stars below this one. 

as it is, she feels more  _alive,_ the promise of winona putting a strange sort of kick into her walk as she traverses the few steps from the bathroom to the bed. 

the bed, where winona waits, coy smile playing across her lips as she watches andrea make her way over. she's exactly as andrea predicted she would be, legs draped over the edge of the bed in invitation, smooth calves giving way to thighs positioned perfectly for andrea to sit on, if she so wishes. her shorts are loose cotton, her bra suspiciously lacy for a woman on the run. her arms are holding her up, thrust backwards, palms to the sheets; her hair is as free and wild as if she was still in the passenger seat of the car and the wind had thrown away any inhibitions that might have kept it from tangling its fingers in her hair and yanking, from running its hands up and down her sides, rippling her clothes; over her chest, pulling her blouse this way and that as it trailed itself all over and around her body, touching her as if it was something rare, something fleeting. as if winona was a  _once_  girl, not a  _twice_  or  _three times_  or, heavens forbid, an  _attachment_  kind of girl. this, andrea is aware of, but it doesn't stop her mental tally that counts not how many times she's ended up on those thighs or, even, between them- no, instead, she keeps track of  _almost_ s, of  _nevers_ ,  _not-yets._ she counts every kiss she has yet to give, and the number of opportunities that were not missed, merely not taken.

she counts this one, as she closes the distance between them with her last couple of steps and lets her own fingertips hover above winona's legs for one last second before allowing herself to make contact and begin sliding up. 

touching winona goes hand-in-hand with the strange sensation that, somewhere, they are being watched. there's something ghostly about the goosebumps she invites, about the way they rarely talk once they start touching, about how winona's hands are as cold as the sub-glacial lake andrea once visited, as a child, how they manage to be soft yet firm despite this fact.

andrea lifts herself firmly into winona's lap, and lets her fingertips drift upwards, skimming across and around her waist. she can feel winona's lips curve into that smile again, her mouth resting lightly against her neck, promising heat and pressure and dirty little words, if andrea does her job right- but then, andrea nash always does. 

winona sucks a kiss into her collarbone and andrea lets her eyes fall closed. one of her hands slides slowly and firmly up winona's side, the other grounding herself with a firm grip on her hip. winona's mouth is warm, and forgiving-  _for now-_  accepting the slow pace, restrained impatience only showing through with the barest skim of her teeth against andrea's skin. andrea  _mms_ at the contact, lets her approval show with the brush of her thumb against the bottom of winona's breast, a simple half-circle of a finger slipped under her bra and swiping against the skin there, enough to prompt winona to slide one of her hands down andrea's back and cup her ass. her breath is warm and wet and heavy as her mouth moves slowly along andrea's collarbone, sinking half-kisses, half-bites into her, and andrea allows herself to rock a little further forward into her. the hand that had been resting on winona's hip trails upward to tangle through and tug at her hair, fingers combing through soft waves that tumble halfway down her back. every few passes, her hand brushes against the clasp of winona's bra, and winona shivers reflexively. 

she lifts her higher in her lap, squeezing as she does, and andrea's mouth decides to let out a noise of its own before her brain can fully catch up to the new position. winona's nose is braced against her chest, now, and if andrea really wanted- if she  _dared-_ she could lean in the last half-inch and press a kiss to winona's forehead.

she won't.

winona sticks out her tongue and licks a stripe across the top of andrea's chest, then changes direction and bites at the edge of her blouse. andrea frowns. (it's an expensive blouse.) with a sigh, she leans back and squirms out of it, making sure to take her time folding it before tossing it neatly to the other side of the bed. as she does so, winona frowns, and does her best to avoid reacting to all the twisting and rocking currently taking place in her lap. she's taking it like a champ, in andrea's opinion.

eventually, the blouse is off and taken care of, and winona resumes her spot slotted in the midst of andrea's chest. she lets her lips hover for a moment or two, taking advantage of andrea's skirt to slide her hands up and under and firmly situated around her ass. she squeezes, and andrea chokes back a gasp, and winona grins. 

"not as on top of your game as usual, are you, miss nash?" she murmurs into the hollow of andrea's breasts, and before andrea can think of a suitable reply, lets her lips trail across their tops.

andrea scowls from above, then tugs sharply on winona's hair. winona looks up, her surprise manifesting in the form of one raised eyebrow. she doesn't bother giving her an explanation, instead using their combined weight to push winona back on the bed and allowing herself to fall with her, so that she's now splayed on top of her completely. winona pulls her legs into the center of the mattress, and andrea simultaneously pushes herself up, to the tune of many grunts and curses from winona, so that she's now straddling her. at some point during the transition, her hands wrapped around winona's wrists, a fact which she now takes advantage of as she pins her hands down onto the bed.

winona is still grinning when andrea looks at her, and again she's sorely tempted to lean in and kiss her; this time wasting no time on  _softness_ , instead meeting her lips roughly, messily, hungrily, until the ache beginning to throb against her breastbone fades away, satisfied. 

she doesn't. 

instead, she places her lips to winona's throat, sucks something heavy into her neck; there will be bruises tomorrow, there always are, but then again, every good criminal has an emergency makeup kit  _somewhere_. she makes her way steadily down winona's neck and chest, not bothering to pause for breath. winona's hands, in the meanwhile, wander, pushing her skirt up as far over her hips as their current position allows, skirting the edge of andrea's underwear, letting her fingers graze the edge just lightly enough to tease. in response, andrea runs her tongue over one of winona's breasts, the bra between them only heightening winona's frustration. it's andrea's turn to grin even as her hips shift in response to the press of winona's fingers; her own mouth is too busy working away at winona's chest, drawing circles and ironic hearts and all sorts of shapes until she can feel the outline of her nipple through the damp cloth. 

winona hisses, presses her head back into the pillow as her back arches, chest rising to meet andrea's mouth, hands falling away from her. andrea doesn't relent, her smile obvious even as she bends her head over winona's other side; equal treatment and all that. one of her hands snakes down to tug at winona's shorts, the want plain in her face, if not in the insistence of her hand. the temperature in the room rapidly rises as winona's hands cover hers, the two of them sliding and shimmying winona out of her shorts in the sort of rare tandem one rarely sees outside of the bedroom and the vault (they've yet to combine  _those_  two things, and if it's up to andrea, they never will.) the shorts are flung off the bed, and neither of them notice when they land on the clock that displays 4:06 in brilliant green. 

andrea's hands run up and down winona's sides as her mouth continues working its magic, and winona's hissing soon gives way to a single soft moan. a thrill runs down andrea's spine; having completely forgotten about her own slipup earlier, she revels in the satisfaction of drawing the first sound of the night from winona's mouth and loops her index fingers into the sides of her panties, twists, lets go with a  _snap_  that sends the blood rushing to winona's face. her hips jerk upwards against andrea's weight, but the force isn't enough to dislodge her and andrea grins and circles her own hips over and into hers. at the same time, she straightens her torso and slides her hands back up to winona's chest, squeezes and rubs her thumbs over her now-sensitive nipples. winona hisses again, squirms a bit harder, and andrea decides she's had enough of her bra. she bends over to drop a couple of kisses on winona's stomach, tracing a path to just above her panty line as her fingers slip under her back and deftly unclasp her bra. she lets her nails graze against her skin and sides as she casually tosses the bra off to the side with none of the care she'd had for her own blouse. winona tracks its fall with her eyes, not noticing the direction of andrea's hands until they're once again on her breasts, only it's  _direct contact_  this time, and when winona gasps at the contact it's loud and clear and followed immediately by a moan as andrea drags her thumb over a nipple, letting the edge of her fingernail catch on it just long enough to start winona breathing heavy. 

" _fuck_ ," she says, " _fuck,"_ and andrea merely smiles and meets her eyes, the unspoken  _that's what we're doing, darling,_  passing from her look to winona's. 

winona must have grit her teeth and set her jaw during the exchange, because it takes andrea completely by surprise when she flips them over. all of a sudden, andrea's heart begins pumping into overdrive, her eyes widening as winona leans in and murmurs, mouth just above hers,

"nice try, doll, but  _my turn_."

as quickly as she'd appeared above her, she disappears down to andrea's torso, one hand holding andrea's wrists above her head while the other pushes her skirt back up. unlike andrea, she doesn't linger over her chest, choosing instead to leave andrea's bra on as her fingers toy with her underwear.

andrea's breathing is shallow and quick as winona's fingers trace patterns against the inside of her thighs. she gasps every time a knuckle brushes across her then disappears, a fleeting touch designed to tease her, to keep her on edge. her lips tremble. winona dips her head down, bringing andrea's wrists to rest on her stomach, still caught in her grip, and though andrea can't see her face, she can picture the smirk crossing her lips as she lays her first kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

andrea shivers, closes her eyes, lets winona take over completely. gently, with a care not particularly consistent to the rest of her persona, winona eases her legs open, gently bending one as she slots herself all the way between them. andrea can feel her soft breaths against her inner thighs, each successive kiss higher and closer and drawing out gasp after soft gasp. there's a pause, and even in that short moment andrea finds herself needing winona's mouth  _back;_ she doesn't have enough time to chide herself before her prayers are answered, and winona tilts her head back down, places the tip of her tongue to andrea's cunt. 

the thin layer of fabric separating winona from andrea does nothing to disguise the former's dexterity or the insistence of her tongue against andrea. winona's expertise is clear; this is hardly their first time, individually or together, and still, her mouth makes andrea feel like she's starting out all over again. the shivers that run through her are more reflex than conscious response. 

her hands are still pinned, which is unfortunate, because there's nothing she'd like more than to run her fingers through winona's hair, to tug and push and pull until winona skips all the way to having her tongue inside her, skips to making her scream properly like this beat-up hotel deserves.

she swears winona can hear her thoughts, because as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she slows down her pace, draws the gentle and undulating pressure against her cunt out even further, takes her time swiping her tongue across her panties, feeling the grooves of her folds and, once, tonguing her clit just to hear the sound that ensues (andrea nash does not squeal. andrea nash does not squeal. andrea nash does  ~~not~~  squeal.) the familiar pressure, that tug in her gut is already starting to build ever so slightly, and andrea swears to the god she doesn't believe in that if winona doesn't get her clothes off before her release, she might just scream for all the wrong reasons. winona takes her mouth off. andrea gripes. winona re-settles herself by placing light kisses to the topmost corner of what can still be considered 'thigh' as her fingers press against the spot where her mouth had just been. andrea replaces her complaining with moans. 

finally,  _finally_ , after what seems like an eternity in the balance, winona's fingers trace upwards and head to pull off the panties that are now officially in the way. her fingers are wet even before they come off, and she takes a break from andrea's thigh to slowly, slowly lick each one deliberately in front of andrea before her head (and hand) disappear back down below her skirt. 

the panties come off, and the skirt is pushed as far up as winona can manage, and she sternly instructs andrea not to move her hands before releasing her wrists and sliding both of her own hands back under her ass, half gripping her thighs. under any other circumstance andrea nash would not take a direct order from anyone, never mind how pretty the woman in her bed may be, but there's something about winona that has made her throw caution and her usual rules to the wind;  _at any rate, it's worth it,_  she thinks, as what small bit of winona's nails that exists dig into her flesh as she finally lets her tongue touch her directly.

she teases at first, still, lazily drags her tongue across her cunt, swirls it around her as if she were an ice cream cone and winona the hungriest girl this side of the mississippi, determined to make the treat last. her mouth is as hot and she as dripping as said girl and ice cream might indeed be, and winona eats her as if she's her favorite flavor. her shoulders dig into the mattress; her back arches, every bit of her wanting to get closer, wanting to feel her, wanting  _winona_.

it's all that slips off her tongue, when  _she_  finally slips her tongue inside her-

_"winona."_

it's soft, and breathy, and she wonders if winona even heard it, but she can't quite concentrate enough to be able to tell if she had. winona is relentless, the earlier restraint entirely gone, and andrea considers breaking her order to not move her hands.

her fingers begin to move- just a mere three inches forward, a twitch, really- and winona stops. growls,

_"andrea,"_

and the lowness and the piercing quality of her voice is enough to stop andrea's hand in its tracks; the usual drawl is completely absent, winona's voice ringing sharp and clear. andrea meets her eyes, a question beginning to form in her own, but winona just shakes her head. in the few seconds she takes to dive back down beneath her skirt, andrea tries to process what just happened-  _did she just-_  but then her tongue is back inside her and  _oh,_ god,  _winona; fuck, don't stop, please,_ and any significant analysis is shoved out of her mind, never to be recovered. winona lets her tongue explore, sucks on her like she's candy, lets her hands trail down and around her ass and thighs, squeezing, pinching, dragging her nails across and around. the sensations, combined, are almost too much for andrea to handle, and as winona hoists one of her legs higher in order to attack from a different angle, what's left of her composure crumbles, and she falls apart in winona's hands, moaning and gasping over strangled breaths, each slight movement from winona's mouth rippling outwards-  _fuck, winona,_ fuck- never mind the  _that's what we're doing, darling_ , immediately floating to the top of her mind-  _oh god,_

and the pressure is definitely building; she can feel it, feels it in the hyperawareness of winona, of her trembling thighs, of the bra still clasped around her chest because winona hadn't bothered with removing it; winona knows too, that she's close, that this just might be her most powerful release in her nine years of fucking women- winona reaches up, taps her hand, and andrea immediately plunges them into her hair, tugs,  _hard,_  drawing an  _mm!_  and  _other_  sounds out of her, a small bit of retribution for all winona's put her through- she wraps her hair around her fingers, pushes down on the back of her head, trying to get her to go faster, deeper, to see her through the end, and  _soon-_  winona readjusts andrea's legs and pulls her a tad closer and buries her head- licking, sucking, tonguing her, the pressure building all the while until- the wave crests and andrea's hips jerk and all at once she's riding a high and coasting straight down; she collapses back, body pressed into the mattress, shoulders still shaking, eyes closed. she breathes.

winona, for her part, licks her. kisses her thighs. plants sparse kisses up her torso, pulling herself up the bed until she's once again face to face with andrea. andrea shivers at the sight of her, of her lips, wet and glistening and, once, again, oh, so tempting. if she'd had the strength, she might have pulled her in right then, but instead, she turns her cheek and mumbles something vague and immemorable, runs her fingers one more time through her tangles.

winona grins, though there's the tiniest tinge of exhaustion at the corner of her eyes. she kisses the tip of her ear.

"oh, no, doll. now it's your turn."

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written proper nsfw before and it probably shows


End file.
